In Which Nata Has Nothing Better to Do

January 7, 1201

"You don't have to rise at the crack of dawn every morning, you know," Nata teased as Falidor finished dressing. "No one dares attend to this room before they know for sure that I'm awake. Besides--half the staff probably has some idea of what we're doing in our spare time anyway."

Falidor frowned. She'd been half-joking, but he'd of course gone for the nugget of truth. She'd have to work on that. "I don't want anyone saying things about you."

"Eh. I don't much care." Nata shrugged. She didn't care, really; the staff could think what they liked, but none of them were fool enough to say anything to her face, or even behind her back on the off-chance it got back to her. "I'd rather you feel like you didn't have to run off so soon."

"But I have to make my room look at least somewhat lived-in."

"Why? Maybe you spent the night with a chambermaid."

"No. I only want to spend nights with you."

"Then spend the morning with me as well, you silly boy."

"No. You may not care what people say about you, but I do. I can't be seen here--for your sake. I mean... we're not married."

Nata snorted. Falidor did, on occasion, like to state the obvious--just like she liked to snark if off. "I suppose we could always get married."

"We could."

Dear Lord. Nata slipped off the bed and landed a playful slug on his shoulder. "I was joking."

"I wasn't." Said without blinking, said without smiling. "I think I want more. I think you do too."

"I think we already have more than you think we do." Or did he? They never said much. But she'd never been one to say things like that, and he wasn't one to say much at all. "Marriage would just be a way of letting other people know it."

"Good. I want everyone to know it."

And he'd been concerned about people thinking her merely promiscuous. The widowed sister of a baron marrying a low-born steward seven years her junior was a much juicier piece of gossip.

But... well, she didn't care. "All right, then."

"Good." She hadn't quite noticed how rarely and subtly he smiled until this odd and obvious grin had appeared. "Get dressed. Father Septimus should be stumbling home by about now."

Nata cocked her head to the side. Of all the things she hadn't expected to start her day with. "Today? Seriously?"

"Why not? Do you have something better to do?"

"No, nothing comes to mind." And if she was truly as sincere as she felt about that, than it must have been the right decision. "I had no idea you were so spontaneous, Falidor Diarn."

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